


Jetty Won't Last Forever

by HasturIsMyCopilot



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angsty Schmoop, Episode 23 - Eternal Scouts, Flashbacks, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Memory Alteration, Missing Scene, Non-Explicit, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HasturIsMyCopilot/pseuds/HasturIsMyCopilot
Summary: Whether or not Cecil loves him back is irrelevant.(originally written in 2015, before Cal was confirmed and all that Huntokar stuff happened.)





	Jetty Won't Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved the Weather from "Eternal Scouts" way back when, so I wrote this short little thing a couple years ago to reflect the mood it set for me. A couple minor edits have been made since then, but it's mostly untouched.

* * *

 

It is Sunday. The sky outside has taken on a colour reminiscent of endless void, starless, moonless. But the lamps of Night Vale, street, desk, floor or otherwise, still glow bright as the evening wears on.

In a home in the residential part of Old Town, there is one particular lamp that gleams with uncommon warmth: like a fire of the heart, flickering every so often but illuminating everything it needs to. It casts its shadows into corners, but whatever lurks there, however terrifying, lies still and calm. Nothing will touch this room: it is pure.

The bed in the room's center holds a mess of bedsheets, upon which lie a tangle of body parts. Some are ghostly pale and freckled, others a smooth, even shade that no two people will give the same name. In fact, were someone to try, they might find themselves tongue-tied, as though the laws of reality and semantics fail when the mind tries to process it.

Forearms, ankles, fingertips. Reddened ears and swollen mouths. At times it is unclear where one limb ends and another begins. Hands are pressed against backs, clinging tight, afraid to let go for fear one will fall and be lost to nothingness. The limbs are not without sentience: they are parts of wholes, wholes that feel dread and horror and irritation and anxiety, but for tonight--perhaps, only tonight--have found a safe haven; in this town, in this room, in this bed, beside one another. Two boys with everything to lose that, for however long, have gained one another.

Earl is the one to break the silence.

"Do you miss them?" he murmurs. He immediately regrets speaking; his voice sounds unbearably loud after such all-consuming quiet.

But Cecil does not cringe or grimace or sigh in exasperation. The arm around Earl's shoulder is still relaxed and limp.

"Sometimes. My mom more than my brother, because, yeah, I get that he's my _brother_ , but he was always..."

"A douchebag."

"Exactly." A smile plays on Cecil's lips for the slightest moment, then disappears. "But my mom...she was always so careful to keep me out of harm's way. I mean, as much as a municipally appointed parental figure can be without overstepping her preordained boundaries. I like to think she'd be proud of me for learning how to fend for myself, you know?"

"What do you mean, 'municipally appointed'? It's been years since the city appointed parents. I thought she was your biological mother."

"I thought so too." Cecil's frown is more pronounced now. "I've...I've been learning a lot lately. A lot about myself. Things I didn't know before. Things they'll probably make me forget once I take over Leonard Burton's job as the community radio host."

For a few moments the silence becomes more tangible. The dark things in the corners seem to take a few steps back into their lives before retreating once again.

"But that won't be for a long time, Cecil," Earl whispers into one ear. "And they can't take away every memory, as much as they try. Even if you forget a lot, there will be people who will help you remember what's important."

"People? You mean you."

"I mean me." Earl doesn't show his teeth when he smiles; although straight after years of dental work, he's used to feeling self-conscious about them. But the turning of his lips is still genuine, and the shimmer in his eyes speaks volumes of compassion. "We can flood your head with memories. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They won't be able to take them all, and I can carry them too."

Cecil's grin is more confident, bordering on manic. It makes his whole face light up and Earl can feel something thrashing about behind his ribcage. He is terrified and awestruck and sickened and helplessly, helplessly in love.

"We'll have to make lots of memories, then."

"Lots."

After that there is no more silence in the room. The world begins to turn again, but they are the ones in control of each and every second. The line between teenage lust and true devotion is danced across with every touch and still-shy kiss. Earl is certain that anyone watching them must be gagging at the movie-style cliche of it all.

But, he muses, the ambiguity of emotion makes the time all the sweeter. Whether or not Cecil loves him back is irrelevant. He will become a constant in Cecil's life. A permanent marker for his past, even if everything else is smudged out by future re-education. 

That, Earl thinks, is as meaningful as being loved.

 

* * *

 

The broadcast has ended. Cecil removes his headphones as the eerieness of "On Air" gives way to the rage of "Stand By." He turns out the light and kicks his heels up onto his desk as dusty late-afternoon sun filters through his solitary window. He is fidgety, but assumes he has drunk too much coffee. Much stranger things have happened in this town ( _his_ town, the very _best_ town) than the events of today. He is most certainly not unnerved, can think of no reason why he would be.

As he gathers his things and wanders out to his car in the gathering cool of evening, he finds that the day's weather report has stuck itself in his head. He taps its beat out on his steering wheel while he waits at stoplights. Rightright--rightrightleft.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, unbeknownst to him, there is a young man, struggling to sift through piles of grey sand for something meaningful. Something that seems oh so important but has no form.

Cecil hums a little, and repeats what few words he recalls.

_Too much time, oh-oh-oh_

_Too much time gone by, and I can't find you if I tried._


End file.
